


Eye Contact

by whereismygarden



Series: play on, give me excess [6]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, Golden Lace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:19:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lacey's attempts at baiting Gold finally bear fruit, but not in a way she expects. Lacey!Belle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Note the underage warning. Also there's a lot more sub/dom elements in here than I really expected there to be.

As usual, Gold’s shop was empty save for himself when Lacey came in after school—she had actually stayed through her last class, as tomorrow they had their show for the elementary school.

                “Just looking, I assume, Miss French?” Gold said, busy with something on his desk. He didn’t look up.

                “Nothing wrong with looking, is there?” she said coyly, and he glanced up at her, frowning.

                “I suppose not.” He returned his focus to his desk: as Lacey walked up to him, she could see an assortment of wires, minuscule clasps and screws, and various other parts she would term as “bits of junk” laid out on his desk.

                “What are you working on?” she asked, reaching forward to prod at a small, flat square of copper. Gold slapped her hand away, looking up with an irritable shake of his head and an indrawn hiss of breath, teeth almost bared in a narrow smile.

                “Child’s toy. _Don’t_ touch, please.” Lacey shrugged and moved away, content to simply examine the shelves. There was a whole world of things she hadn’t seen: even if she hadn’t enjoyed messing with Gold—or trying to—his shop would have been enough to have her coming back. A blue-paned glass lantern with stars punched through its tin lid stood next to a set of paints she was fairly certain were no longer legally saleable according to the EPA. Then again, she wasn’t sure if it was legal to display medieval weaponry uncovered and unsheathed, and the saber in question had been there for years.

                She continued inching down the aisle, trying to ignore the tension strung like a cord from Gold to her, when something pale at the top of a shelf caught her eye. It was a piece of porcelain, she realized, squinting at it in the dim light of the shop. Rising to her tiptoes and wishing for Ruby’s long legs, she snatched it down. A teacup, cream with pink and gold touches, painted with a few delicate roses: the kind of pattern she imagined Victorian novel characters had on their tea sets. Lacey would have preferred something less _sweet_ , maybe in blue, but it was pretty, and she thought she could maybe use it for candy, as she didn’t drink tea. There was no price marker attached. She walked back towards the desk, calling out ahead of her,

                “How much is this tea—“ her question was cut off in a shriek as she stepped on the lace of her shoe and crashed to the floor. For a split second, the cup was in the air, but she managed to catch it and fold it to her stomach, though she landed hard on her wrist. Catching her breath, she heard Gold rising and moving.

                “ _What_ are you doing, Miss French?” he practically snarled. Lacey rose hurriedly, straightening her skirt, to find him standing before her, glaring.

                “It’s fine, see?” she held out the cup, and he plucked it from her hand, examining it closely.

                “I’m worried I might have to forbid you from touching anything in the shop at all,” was all he said, words clipped, and handed it back, eyes still heated. Lacey tried a smile.

                “There’s no price on that one.”

                “I expect that’s because you took it off the labeled shelf,” he replied, still unsmiling, eyes still boring holes into her. Lacey set the cup gently down onto a table and knelt to retie her shoe. Gold hissed softly at her sudden movement and stepped back. Lacey smirked up at him, though her fingers were clumsy with the laces, and his hot eyes hadn’t left her.

                “You don’t need to worry about me getting on my knees in front of you for any other reason than tying my shoes, Mr. Gold,” she said.

                “I’m not worried,” he said, voice a little rougher than usual, and walked back to the desk. Lacey wondered if he was at least a little embarrassed by his reaction and followed him, wondering how far she could push him before he threw her out and banned her from his shop. He tossed his head at her.

                “Can I help, dearie? I know you have nothing better to do, but…” He _was_ a little agitated. Lacey bit her lip to keep from grinning.

                “I was just wondering if you liked my CD,” she said carelessly, glancing across the desk to meet his eyes again. He froze in the middle of sitting down, straightened, and walked around the desk, keeping his eyes locked on hers, an expression she didn’t recognize stealing over his face. Lacey felt frozen and burning, half-swallowed in the dark heat of his gaze.

                “Very much,” he said, wrapping a fiery hand around her cool wrist and pulling her to the other side of the counter. Lacey stumbled after—she hadn’t tied her shoes very carefully—her mind a little fuzzy. He shoved her against the drawer of the desk, a little roughly, and she felt heat rise in her face. Gold stood facing her, very close, so that they almost touched. Hunger rose in his dark eyes, at odds with his calm face. “It was very…you,” he said, mouth nearly brushing her ear. He reached up abruptly, loosened his tie, and pulled it off. At some point, he had let go of the cane, because he used both hands to pull her wrists together and tie them behind her back with the strip of red silk. Lacey swallowed.

                “What are you doing?” she asked, voice maddeningly shaky. She led, and men followed. She gave the orders, and yet here she was, Gold tying her to the handle of a cabinet, and she was getting weak-kneed.

                “Tell me to untie you, and I will,” he said, tightening the silk. She liked the feeling, the pull of it against her wrists, and his voice bypassed her brain completely, dancing over her skin. There was nothing in the world that could make her ask to be untied. Gold put his hands on her hips and dragged down, caressing the outside of her thighs through the fabric of her skirt. He gripped suddenly and pulled her legs apart, practically standing between them. Lacey gasped and jerked, surprised, but her hands were arrested by her bonds, and that knowledge only made more lust climb inside her.

                “Look me in the eye,” Gold ordered, his voice rough and rich, as his hands dipped beneath her skirt and touched the bare skin of her legs. She met his eyes, squirming at the delight and arousal and command she found there. His hands inched higher, only his fingertips dragging at her skin, pulling the skirt up. Was he really going to… she found she didn’t care _what_ he did, because he was killing her with his fingertip touches. “I did like your CD,” he breathed, and she could see the way he relished his power over her. “Remind me of the words to the one song, involving screaming, I think, and silence.” His fingers reached her hips, hooked over the waistband of her knickers, and pulled them down to her knees.

                “Oh!” Lacey yelped, and he simply smirked.

                “The words?” She wetted her lips as he ran his palms over her buttocks and hips, pressing the crease of her hips with his thumbs, calling up fire between her legs. She shuddered, enjoying the sensation. “Hmm?”

                “Hold my hands above my head, and push my face into the bed,” she paused, wondering if she could keep talking. His hands crawled up her ribs, and her breath wouldn’t steady. “’Cause I’m a screamer, baby, m-make me a mute,” she stammered, and glanced away.

                “In the eye, if you don’t mind,” he said, and thrust a hand between her legs. She squealed a little. “You’re going to have to be quiet, if this is going to work.” She couldn’t even think with his eyes on her, and she couldn’t keep standing and listening and looking at him when he was rubbing his fingers over her slick folds, still with a delicate touch, stoking instead of quenching the fire. “Not a sound,” he ordered, and she bit her lip, nodding. He eased a finger inside her, and she clenched her teeth, yanking against the silk around her wrists, denying her desire to touch him, undo him the way he was undoing her. His thumb found her clit, and flicked at it lightly. Lacey keened through her teeth, and he clamped the hand not inside her over her mouth.

                “I said, not a sound,” he hissed, and she only moaned more against his hand, bucking her hips, wishing for more sensation, something other than the maddening tug of her bonds and the soft press of his fingers. He obliged her, adding another finger and pushing in and out of her, his thumb rubbing harder against her clit, and then it was all too much, and she was biting her lip to keep from screaming like she’d never screamed—there was still sound, caught against his palm—and the tie wrapped around her wrists, and his fingers against her and in her, and over it all, through it, his eyes, nearly black, full of something like triumph woven with desire. She couldn’t look away if she tried: he’d bound her hands and her gaze as well, and he pressed harder and faster, hand gripping her jaw because now she really was trying to scream, the fire building to unbearable intensity, and she shattered like a glass vase, snapped like an over-tightened guitar string, still looking him in the eye.

 When she broke, something in his gaze flared hotter and wilder than before, and then she was sagging against the desk, legs scarcely holding her up, arms shaking and burning from struggling. Gold slid his fingers out of her and pulled her knickers back up, wiping his hand on them, and removed his other hand from her mouth. Lacey swallowed but couldn’t think of anything to say. This was the part where she shoved the boy in question out of the closet or shed, or where she hurried out of the car. Gold simply untied her, and, to her great embarrassment, she slid to the floor for a moment before scrambling to her feet once more. He put his tie into the drawer of his desk.

“You’re having some trouble staying upright today, aren’t you?” He pulled out his chair and sat down in front of the disassembled toy again. She wanted to think of something biting to say in return, but her legs were still shaking, so she settled for rotating her wrists to ensure they still worked. “Stay as long as you please, dearie,” he said airily. “I didn’t intend to make you less coordinated than you already are.” Lacey walked over to where she had left the teacup and half-slammed it onto the counter in front of him.

“How much?” she asked, pleased that her voice was more or less normal, if a little hoarse. She had to depend on getting herself off, but apparently Gold knew what he was doing. The lazy heaviness in her bones was something she had by herself, in her bed, or at her own hand with whomever she was fucking in the backseat: she didn’t think anyone had brought her off besides herself. Except for Gold, now. He looked calmly up at her and studied the cup.

“Eight dollars,” he decided, a number she felt he had picked out of thin air, but she handed over the money anyway, and he wrapped it in tissue paper, smiling slightly at her. Not in a mocking way, just smiled and limped over to the cash register to put away the money. Lacey walked to the door, nearly tripping over her loose shoelace again—and he noticed, because she heard a stifled laugh—and turned back to him.

“No one else has gotten me to scream like that,” she said quietly, and finally had the pleasure of truly unnerving him, as he dropped something onto his desk with a clatter. She swished out of the shop and back into the autumn light of Storybrooke, finally feeling like she had her balance back.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics from "Flesh" by Simon Curtis.


End file.
